Mirror
by InclinedInception
Summary: "North had a couple girlfriends before, one he dated for several months, but he never once said those words." A story forged from this single sentence. Meet the girl North dated for "several months", Bria. Find out how it began and how it eventually ended. Rated T for Language and violence.
1. The Academy: Intro to Knives

_**Author's Note:** This story is going to be quite different with another girl as the main character. It's going to move very quickly and takes place a year or so before the boys meet Sang. I'm not sure if I want to make this short or long so we'll see how it goes. I hope you guys enjoy. P.S. The sentence I used in the summary was from ~A~ Book Four: Forgiveness & Permission. I read it and thought "Hm. I wonder what that girl was like." :)_

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><p>Every now and then, the Academy required some of its members to go through training. Whether it was Lock Picking, Gun Range, or Efficient Driving 101, they hand picked certain members to learn certain skills so we could be well rounded individuals who could complete the task given. It was my rookie year on an all bird team, so it wasn't much of a surprise when the Academy automatically enrolled me in a class. They wanted their birds and dogs the best there was out there, at the top of their game but for some reason, I got stuck with 'Introduction to Knife Throwing'.<p>

Seriously, who threw knives anymore? Who threw knives to begin with?

It didn't matter what I thought though. It was required by the Academy. And on the first day, I was in class.

"I am David Weston," the teacher introduced himself. "You may call me Mr. Weston, or just Weston. Whatever suits you."

He handed out a syllabus to a class of twelve. Pretty average for one of the specialty courses. When he set mine on the desk, I fingered through the first two pages and decided I didn't care much about his syllabus or this class. I had a natural aim with the gun, and I knew knives wouldn't be much different. I just wanted to get to work with my team.

There were four of us: CT, Marna, Vivian, and myself. Together we made the perfect team. CT, she was a tech wizard. The girl was tough as nails and could hack into the white house if she put her mind to it. She's the one who recruited me to begin with. Then there was Marna, the sweetie southern belle with a killer walk and the highest heels in high school. She made eighteen look like twenty-four. She also ran all of our official business with the Academy as our active team lead. And Vivian, the historical guru. Viv was the quiet one. She went knew how to walk through a crowded room and go unnoticed in plain sight, perfect for gathering intel. And then there was me. I had a quick aim, and I was fast on my feet and decision making. A year ago when they adopted me, I went through a crap ton of training with them and discovered my natural talent in combat. CT said I had an incredible right hook. I told her I had a lot of practice, mostly defending myself.

I started doodling on the top corner of the syllabus page, writing my name in graffiti and drawing little angry men with snarky comments. I was always drawing on something. It got me through things I didn't want to deal with and righted the wrongs of boredom, like this class.

"This is a thirteen week course which will consist of both class and range," Wesson explained. He was a stout man with shiny black hair. The dark blue suit he wore made him look like he belonged to the mafia. Maybe he used to. I wouldn't be surprised.

"You will be ranked on knowledge, precision and control," he went on. "These are key for accurately throwing knives, or dealing with any weapon. I will push you to the edge of success and beyond. This class requires an A to pass. Anything else is unsatisfactory by Academy standards."

A few groans went around the room. What did that mean if we failed? Would the Academy kick us out? Probation? I decided it might be better if I looked through the syllabus again. Maybe this class wouldn't be as easy as I thought.

Weston leaned against his desk and lifted a clipboard from it. "Let's start with roll. Lauren Ashton?"

"Here."

"Oliver Carson?"

"Here."

"Bria Grant?"

"Here," I said, without looking up.

"Jocelyn Kent?"

"Present."

_Smart ass._There's always someone who has to be different.

"North Tayl-,"

"I am here."

He stood in the doorway, tall and present in a black tshirt, jeans and loosely laced combat boots. His bookbag hung lazily from his shoulders, kept in place by his thumb looped around the bottom of the strap. He had a hard face: dark serious eyes, chiseled features, and a strong jaw that all gave the impression that he wasn't a guy to mess around with. Irritated that he had been interrupted, Weston checked his name from attendance sheet as I, along with everyone else in the class stared at _North_ like some specimen on display.

This guy was the real deal, not the kind that walked around pretending to be tough and macho, but rather the tough guy who didn't care whether you knew believed him or not. I didn't have to be part of the Academy to tell that. It was in his posture. He was confident and uncaring at the same time, like he'd rather be anywhere else than here. His presence alone dared you to challenge him.

"Yes, you are here _and_ late. Take a seat," Wesson said firmly. "Late again and your team will owe a favor. And that goes for anyone else who decides to show up late in the future."

North casually sauntered into the classroom and made his way down my row. I wondered what his story was. Everyone had a story, otherwise, we wouldn't be part of the Academy. I wondered if he had a shitbag for a father like me or something worse. I watched him. For some reason, I couldn't take my eyes off of him. He was handsome, sure, but that wasn't it. It was his… I don't know what it was.

Just as he was passing by, he cut his eyes down and we exchanged a glance. It felt like a quick bolt of electricity, and just as quickly gone. I heard him slide into the desk behind me, his bookbag hitting the floor with a thud as Weston went on with the role. I felt North's eyes on me, but I didn't dare turn around. Instead I focused on Weston at the front of the room. Halfway through his lecture on the beginning of prehistoric knives, a text came in on my phone.

**CT: How is it?**

I tucked the phone under my desk to type back.

**Bria: Boring. So far, I've learned to cut an animal with a flint.**

**CT: Great. I've got this squirrel in the backyard you can gut.**

"Bria Grant," Weston called out. I shut my eyes and let out a groan. Caught red-handed. He said, "You know I can see under the desk, right? I suppose your team is looking for favors to take on?"

I tucked my phone back in my pocket, and gave him a grin. "No, sir. We are not."

"If I see it again, you will surely owe one. Now… as I was saying…"

North snickered behind me. I cut him a hard glance over my shoulder and said curtly, "Ha-ha. Mind your business."

I turned back around with a roll of my eyes, but I felt him lean forward. His voice was deep, but crisp, just beside my ear. "Tough girl. I guess I should thank you for getting me out of the hot seat with Weston."

I ignored him, well tried to and made a serious effort to pay attention to the rest of Weston's lecture, even writing down a few notes on the back of my syllabus. I could tell this guy North was going to be a distraction, and if I wanted an A, I was going to have to stay as far away from him as possible.

After one hour and thirty minutes of flint talk and the introduction of copper, Weston made his final remarks. Tomorrow, we would meet on the range, where we would test out our knife skills for the first time. Once class was dismissed I shoved my syllabus and pencils in my bookbag.

"Try not to be late tomorrow," I jipped as North was getting up.

He loomed over me, easily six - three, maybe taller. He didn't laugh or shoot back a snarky remark or anything. He just walked off, and then he was gone.

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><p><em>Author's Note: Thanks for reading this short intro to the story. Update 1029: Just read book 7! I can't take it. Part 2 coming soon._


	2. Two: Getting To Know The Team

I got to CT's apartment around 12:30, dying to get some food in my system. Usually I ate something for breakfast, but this morning I woke up late and didn't want to be late to class. CT lived on the south end of the city with her little brother, Oliver. She's had the place since she got emancipated at sixteen, and when she turned eighteen, she gained custody of Oliver. I know the Academy was involved in granting CT custody. Her story: drunks for parents.

"C?" I used the key she gave me to unlock the front door and poked my head inside. "Ollie?"

"We're here," CT's naturally raspy voice rang from inside. I fully came in, setting my book-bag near the door and kicking off my sneakers. It was a small two bedroom apartment. The kitchen was right at the entrance, separating itself from the living room by a row of island countertops and three barstools. The walls and floors were plain,but a deep red leather couch gave color to the living room where CT and Marna perched over the coffee table looking at some papers. The tv was on, but muted. Beyond the living room was a long hallway with the bathroom and the two bedrooms. Ollie's door was closed, which meant he was home.

"Ollie stay home from school today?" I asked coming into the living room. I sat on the arm of the couch and sent my dad a text to let him know where I was.

"He had to." Marna glanced up with a pouty, glossed lip. Her blonde hair was neatly braided to one side, nearly brushing the coffee table. "Poor darling's got a cold."

"Yeah, more like faking it," CT scoffed. "He had a test in math. That's why he didn't want to go."

Marna sucked in a breath. "He's faking it? And you let him stay?"

CT sat back from the coffee table and stretched out one of her legs on it with a thud. She glanced up at me with her grey amused eyes and shrugged. "It's not a big deal. He can make it up."

Marna shook her head. "Unbelievable. Terrible guardianship."

"Where's Viv?" I asked.

"On the way over." Marna picked out a sheet from the stack in front of her, and while glancing it over she asked. "The bigger question is how was class?"

Both CT and Marna looked up at me expectantly, suddenly fully engaged in what I had to say. With both of them being older, I felt like the little sister about to be asked if I made any new friends on the playground.

"It was fine. Boring. And thanks to this one here," I pointed my thumb toward CT, "the instructor almost took my phone and charged us a favor."

"Don't blame that shit on me! Just because I text doesn't mean you have to answer." She combed her fingers through her pixie, naturally red hair that seemed to fall right back into place.

"But you should always check," Marna added. "Just in case we need you."

"And if you do, do I just leave?" I imagined the scenario in my head and couldn't possibly see Weston taking it well. He would probably request five favors, maybe more.

"If it were an emergency," said Marna. "They should understand. They know how it works."

Weston might know, but I had no idea. Marna, CT, and Viv adopted me on the team a year ago, but I only knew I had been adopted two months before they brought me on officially, and I still hadn't seen much Academy action. CT later told me it was to make sure I meshed well with the team, and that all bird teams were really tricky to maintain balance. In the meantime, I did a little work here and there, stakeouts and gathering intel, but nothing too serious. I wondered when I was going to get fully involved.

As if reading my mind, Marna set down the papers she was reviewing, and fetched her phone.

"We're going to take on this assignment. I'm texting Vivian now to see how close she is."

"Tell her to bring food," CT said. "I'm fucking starving."

"Me too," I added.

A wave of excitement went through me. Not just for food, but a new assignment, a team assignment. I couldn't wait to show the girls I belonged, even though I knew they believed in me. "What's the assignment."

"We've got to wait for Viv," CT said a matter-of-factly, absently pulling at her lip ring. I should have known that. I _did_ know that, but I didn't want to wait.

"It's a big one," Marna revealed. She raised her eyebrow inquisitively. "You ready, Bria?"

"Time to sink or swim, Rookie," CT hooted.

I dismissed them with a wave of my hand, "How long you gonna call me a rookie? I've been part of the team for two months now."

CT erupted with laughter, and even Marna let out a small chuckle and reminded me, "You have a long way to go, hun."

A few minutes later, Viv walked in pizza balanced on her forearm. She was so quiet I wouldn't have even noticed if Marna hadn't called her out. She slinked in dressed in khaki shorts and a blue fitting tshirt, her braids pulled back into a bun. Her other hand clung to the strap of her peanut colored messenger bag she absolutely could not live without. She carried it with her everywhere, as much a part of her as her hazel eyes. She sat down on the carpet on the other side of the coffee table, crossed her legs, and set the pizza box next to the files. CT and I didn't wait for an invitation.

"How'd you get pizza so fast?" CT asked with a stuffed mouth.

"Already had it, figured you guys wanted something. Sorry I'm late." Her eyes met mine and she smiled warmly, as if seeing me put her in a better mood. "Bria, how was class?"

I couldn't help but smile back. "Good. We go to the range tomorrow."

"And she's going to kick ass," CT chimed, nudging my shoulder.

Marna silently agreed and clasped her hands together. "Okay, now that everyone's here let's go over our next assignment."

We naturally perked up, focusing all of our attention to the files on the coffee table as Marna continued.

"I'll give you the short version. His name is Robert Jensen. He's forty five, on his third wife, and has a house in Charleston, Las Vegas, and Jacksonville."

CT let out a low whistle. "Mr. Big Money."

"Yeah. He owns the Pink Rascals chain."

"The sports bar?" Viv took a slice of pizza.

CT rolled her eyes, "More like a gentlemen's club." Her eyes flicked to Marna. "Don't tell me-."

Marna put up her hand and CT stopped talking to listen. "He's opening one here in Charleston next month, and the Academy wants us on this guy… hiring starts next week."

"What's the issue?" I jumped in before CT began to protest. "With this guy Jensen, I mean."

"Suspected money laundering. Maybe through his daughter Dalia, who's already staked her position as manager at the new Charleston location." Marna pulled one of the files from the bottom on the stack and slapped it on top. Attached was a picture of a woman in her early twenties with dyed blonde hair and a beach tan. "Four Pink Rascals are going up across the country. Problem is, the Pink Rascal's got a negative profit. He's losing _a lot_ more money than he's making."

"Good," CT snorted. She couldn't sound any more disinterested in the project.

"Where's he getting the money from?" I picked up Dalia's file and sifted through it with my pizza-free hand. "Drugs? Black Market?"

"Gambling. He may be getting an illegal cut of the profits."

"That would explain the house in Vegas," I said. Behind Marna's head, I saw the Ollie's bedroom door crack open and his shaggy red hair poke out. I nudged CT in the arm and nodded toward the door and said, "Hey Ollie. How you feeling?"

He coughed the most ridiculous cough I'd ever heard. Yup. He was definitely faking it.

"Hi Bria. My head still hurts," he groaned.

"See? How can you say he's faking it?" Marna cooed. CT and I shared a is-she-serious glance. Marna definitely had a soft spot for Oliver, and he exploited it to his advantage every time he got that chance. Not to mention, the twelve year old had a long lived crush on eighteen year old Marna so anytime she babied him, he was in heaven.

She waved him over, "Let me feel your head, Oliver."

He happily obliged, stalking over in his tshirt and plaid pj bottoms. Marna pressed her palm to his head and then the backside of her hand. "At least you're starting to cool down."

"Because he wasn't sick to begin with," CT grunted. "Ollie. Room. Now!"

"But it's lunch time," he complained. "And pizza! The rule is-."

"I know the rule. I created it. We're doing work."

He glanced down at the coffee table. "Academy?"

She pointed to his room. "Grab a slice and go."

"Fine," he shot back. He and CT were so much alike, the same fiery red hair, the same sharp grey eyes, and the same easily irritated temper. She took care of him though, when their parents wouldn't, and he meant the world to CT. For now, she let him believe the Academy was a private school she attended three times a week when she really worked at the grocery store to pay for rent, but eventually she planned to tell him the truth.

He grabbed a soda from the fridge and a slice of pizza on the way back. "See ya, Marna. Bye, Bria."

"Nothing for me? I brought the pizza," Viv called after him. It was like she suddenly appeared in the room though she had been there all along. Viv had that effect.

"Thanks, Viv."

"And me?" CT called, quickly followed by a door slam. "Whatever."

"Do you have to be such an ass to Oliver?" Marna said to CT.

"I'm not being an ass, I'm being a sister. If he wants to fake it, he can stay in his room. I don't care. The only reason you think his little charade is cute is because he likes you."

Marna shrugged a shoulder. "What can I say. The kid knows greatness when he sees it. Anyway, let's get back to work."

CT mumbled something to herself, but didn't push the issue. Marna went on with the assignment.

"This Pink Rascal opens up in Charleston at the end of this month. The best way to get in cozy with the daughter, is to get on her payroll."

I glanced at CT who was fighting to keep her protest to herself. Somehow she managed.

It was Viv who asked, "How is that going to work? You have to be at least eighteen to waitress there."

I was the youngest by a longshot, being barely fifteen. With CT and Marna eighteen, and Viv seventeen, it was like being on a team with three older sisters. Three very cool older sisters.

"CT and I will have to do it since we're legal. Maybe Vivian, you can get in as a host. Bria you'll have to do outside intel."

Great. Too young to be fully involved.

"I don't like it." CT grunted. "Be waitresses in hotpants for fucking rude, disrespectful drunks? It's not going to get us anywhere."

The three of us knew where this was coming from. CT hated drunks, hated the whole drinking scene because of her past. And now Marna was asking CT to make it her day job. She had already been emancipated when I met her, but I knew enough to know CT's mom and dad were bad parents who drank until they couldn't function and passed out on a nightly basis, leaving CT responsible for Ollie, who was only nine at the time. I was just glad she was able to get Ollie away from them.

Marna took an easy, calm breath, tucking the golden flyaways that had escaped behind her ear. Her tone was gentle, with just a bit of her Team Lead authority. "The Academy really wants us on this one, C. I know it's asking a lot, but we'd be bringing in a lot of favors that we _need_."

We did need the favors, I knew that much. However many favors Marna had to call in to grant CT custody of Ollie left us in a major deficit. I didn't know the exact numbers, but it would take a while before we started gaining again.

When CT didn't respond, Marna gave her another chance, which sounded more like a warning. "CT?"

"Fine." Was all she said, focusing her eyes on the tv. She was done discussing it.

Marna glanced at me. "Bria?"

"I'm in," I said eagerly. Maybe too eagerly.

"Vivian?"

"Yes, let's figure this guy out."

Marna was pleased, settling into the couch a little more to relax. "Good. CT and I will look into applying as servers this week." I glanced at CT who hadn't taken her eyes from the screen and then back to Marna. "In the meantime, we need to look into his home here in Charleston. Our assignment isn't to stop him or bring his business down. It's to figure out how he's actually getting this money. That's it. Bria, after range tomorrow I want you to stop by his house. See what you can. Is it gated, under surveillance, that sort of thing."

"Will do." I nodded, the corner of my mouth twitching up into a smile. This is it. The Academy.

"Vivian, once Bria has that info gathered. I want you to find a way in. Get a floorplan of his entire place. I want to know what side of the bed he sleeps on, the first thing he does in the morning."

"Sure."

"CT?"

CT finally took her eyes away from the tv, staring right at Marna. Her expression was more blank than irritated. She raised an eyebrow to let Marna know she was listening.

"We need access to his bank accounts, and his daughter's accounts. See where they spend their money the most, where the deposits come from, any inconsistencies."

"Roger that, boss." CT rose from the couch and went into her room.

Marna waited until CT was out of range and said, "I know she doesn't like it, but we need her on this one. All of us need to be on this one."

Viv and I said nothing, sure CT would come around… eventually.


	3. Dear Old Dad

We sat around CT's apartment for a few hours, gathering what we could on Jensen, all his wives, and his daughter, Dalia. Not much came up for now, but it was only the beginning. It was only a matter of time before CT cracked into something that would lead us to the goldmine. During that time, Ollie had come out and watched tv with with us, finishing off the last three slices of pizza. He didn't ask about any of the Academy work, more interested in a marathon of American Ninja Warrior to care. I didn't blame him. It seemed like I was watching more tv than reading files.

At six o'clock the alarm on my phone rang out, disrupting the entire flow of our process.

Dammit.

Evan.

"Today Tuesday?" CT straightened up, checking her watch.

I sighed, closing the files and slapped them on the coffee table. "Yeah, I've got to go now."

Marna pointed a finger at me. "Take CT with you."

"No, I'll be fine this time." I looked at each of them. "Seriously."

"It wasn't a request. Take CT or don't go at all."

I had to go. The thought of not going, sent a unsettling chill up my spine. I already felt guilty for being out already. I looked to CT, who was already on her feet, lacing up her boots. She said, "Whenever you're ready."

"Call us if something happens," Viv told me in a serious tone I hadn't heard all day. Marna's face reflected the same seriousness. I knew it was just because they cared about me. They knew my story.

"I will," I said. "See you later, Ollie. Go to school tomorrow."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm going." He grinned as I rustled his hair a bit before heading for the door. I jumped back in my sneakers and slung my bookbag over my shoulder.

CT and I headed out. She turned and called back in. "You guys lock up in a few and let me know if you guys leave."

"Okay," Marna, Viv, and Ollie chimed at the same time.

Outside, the early September air was still warm, the last bit of summer hanging on by two degrees. CT and I made our way toward the parking lot. My rinky-dink Honda was parked next to her Jeep, which was parked next to Marna's Volvo, next to Viv's grey hybrid Prius.

"We can take mine," CT said, yanking her keys from her black jeans.

I said. "We should drive separate, for when you want to leave later."

"You clearly haven't grasped the term 'overnight' surveillance yet, have you?"

"My dad is harmless. You guys don't have to keep doing this."

CT kept her pace up. "Maybe, but we just want to be sure. Remember what happened last time?"

On instinct, I sucked on the right side of my bottom lip, feeling the engraved scar. He didn't mean to do it, but for the girls, that was no excuse.

"What about my car?"

"Viv will drop it in the morning." CT scowled. "Get the fuck in."

There was no point in arguing. I threw my bag in the back of her Jeep and vaulted myself into the passenger seat. CT had one of those Jeeps with no windows and the doors taken off. She stored them in her closet for the cooler months when she would have to reattach them again. I sighed, buckling up and letting my leg hang on the edge a bit. Once we started up, the breeze felt good. It was all around, sending my short black curls in a frenzy around my head as CT sped off toward my house. It was only a five minute drive away, and the whole way there I thought about how I was going to sit with my dad the rest of the evening, stuck in the house.

CT parked far down the drive of my neighborhood, well out of view from my house where my dad could see. I checked my clock. 6:24. I had plenty of time.

"I'll go in, see where he is in the house and then text you to either come through the back door or the window," I told her.

"Just hurry up." She scanned the neighborhood. "I'll wait behind the neighbor's fence, like usual."

"Okay." I jumped down from CT's jeep and casually started up the driveway toward my house. We lived in a pretty decent single family neighborhood, even though it was only the two of us. My story was simple enough: I had a dad who loved me too much.

It started when my mom walked out of us.

She left us on Tuesday.

I was only ten but I remember she took off when I was at school and my dad was at work. When I got home from school that day five years ago, all her things were cleaned out and she was gone. She even went through the trouble of heaving her favorite steel trimmed mirror that hung in the foyer with her. It must have taken her an hour to get the heavy thing out by herself. She must have really wanted that mirror… more than she wanted me.

And I remember when my dad got home that night, too. He took it hard, sort of. He hugged me so tight I thought he was going to snap my spine, and he told me how much of a good girl I was before he drank a half bottle of scotch and passed out on the floor of my mom's empty closet. That was the first time I ever saw him drink, and surprisingly it was the last.

He must have known she was going to leave. He didn't react the way a normal husband would if his wife just vanished. He didn't even want to get the police involved with locating her, but he had to. The investigation only lasted to the end of the week.

He had to know something.

Everyone knew but me.

As I approached the front of the house, I saw the blinds from his bedroom window shift. He was watching and worrying as always on Tuesday. He was afraid I was going to leave like mom, with good reason too, because he was good at giving me the incentive to.

I sucked in a breath and turned the knob, stepping into the small foyer. There was still a wide empty space above the entry table were my mom's mirror had been. The house was quiet, except for my dad's footsteps coming down the hall. He was an average guy by normal standards. Dark hair, green eyes, olive skin, and a thick dark mustache. I favored him far more than my mom, apart from the mustache part.

"Bria," He checked his watch, his eyes partly wild, partly worried. "You were almost late. Do you know what time it is?"

I sighed. "It's 6:20. I still have ten minutes."

"Don't cut it too close, okay kiddo," he smiled one of his weak, defeated smiles. "Hey, I made your favorite tonight."

"Spaghetti Tuesday," I tried to sound excited, but I had stopped loving spaghetti years ago. Now, it just reminded me of this sad routine we went through every week.

"You do want spaghetti, right Bria? " He wrung his hands together, and worrisome habit he acquired after my mom left. "If you don't want it I can make something else."

As much as I would have loved something else, I didn't want to put him through the trouble. His eyes were kind, too kind most of the time, ready to give me anything whenever I wanted. They made me feel guilty whenever I left the house or asked for money or tried to change up the routine. He didn't sneak out on me like mom, so I complied with this Tuesday crap, for now. It was like he was just waiting for me to pack up and leave like mom. He was always watching me, always checking in to make sure I was okay, always making spaghetti every damn Tuesday. Some people might have found my dad's attentiveness endearing, but I found it suffocating.

"No dad, spaghetti is fine."

He smiled, releasing his hands from one another. "Okay, I'll make your plate. You should get washed up."

I smiled politely, heading for the bathroom. I went in and shut the door behind me, and retrieved my phone to text CT.

**Bria: Downstairs. Dinner Time.**

**Ct: Already in your room. Stop complaining and sneak me a plate. I'm hungry again.**

I shoved my phone back in my jeans and made my way to the kitchen. We had a pretty nice house. Hardwood floors covered the entire first floor complemented with sand colored granite counter tops and black appliances. The living room was connected, a long beige couch and 2 armchairs turned toward the wall mounted television. A college football game was on. My dad's favorite.

"Who's winning?" I asked sitting at the glass dining table. I couldn't care less about sports but I asked to be nice.

"Auburn is up a field goal, but I think Georgia is going to take the game." He said, sitting a plate of steaming spaghetti in front of me. "You want garlic bread? I can throw some in the oven for you."

"No dad, it's okay."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Alright." He grabbed his own plate and sat down across from me. We ate together and watched the game, but he spent most of the time looking at me. I felt like an animal trapped in the zoo, always on display. I remember when I first met the girls, they thought I had it good. That I was selfish and wrong to think my dad was anything but a caring and loving father. Eventually they saw how dark my dad could become when he spent enough time wallowing in self-pity.

"You remind me so much of your mother," my dad finally sighed, his eyes glassy with possible tears. I stifled a groan. This was part of the routine. Come home early, hear about how I was almost late, eat spaghetti, watch some sports, have dad tell me how much I remind him of the woman who left us, eat more spaghetti.

"I don't look anything like her," I said simply.

"Just… the way you are," he fiddled with his napkin. "The way you eat…"

"Dad, can we skip this part?" I took a final bite and pushed the plate away from me slightly. "Please."

"I just- it's just an observation."

"You tell me every time, dad. I don't want you to get upset about it. Let's just have a calm night." That was wishful thinking.

"Yeah, sure. Sorry, Bria." He sniffed, sitting up a bit. "Let's talk about school instead. You excited to start next week? You'll be a freshman."

"It's still school. It won't be any different, maybe with a little more homework," I lied. Truth was, Academy would cover most of my schooling, teaching me things like combat, stealth and surveillance. I was only officially enrolled in two classes for the upcoming year at Ashley Waters High. English and History.

My dad smiled a little. "High School is more fun, then you'll be in college before you know it."

_If you even let me go,_ I thought. I told him, "Marna says it's all the same, except with jocks and cliques."

"Who?" My dad's tone had lost all its curiosity and turned into something deeper, something darker. I closed my eyes briefly, internally cursing myself for letting her name slip.

"Nobody dad." I quickly shook my head. "It's nobody."

He set his fork down, his eyes glaring into mine. "I thought you stopped hanging around with those girls. I told you they're too old for you."

It wasn't because they were too old, it was because they were anyone except him. They could have been 15 years old, they could have been 1500 years old, my dad was going to find something wrong with them. As much as he tried to pretend he wanted a normal life for me, he wanted the opposite. He wanted to be my friend, my only friend to ensure I would never take off on him like my mom had.

"Are you still texting them?" He demanded, then held out his hand. "Give me your phone."

"No, I'm not texting them," I lied. Lying had become second nature. "It's fine."

"Give me your phone," he growled.

I sighed. "Dad, just relax-"

His hand slammed down over mine, crushing it in his as he yanked me forward. My hips knocked against the table and the whole thing rattled. He squeezed relentlessly as if I was holding some type of weapon he wanted me to drop. Pain shot through each finger, each joint, each bone in my palm. My hand was going to give at any second if he squeezed any tighter.

"Dad, you're hurting me," I whined.

He let go and I fell back against my chair, nursing my hand in my lap. How he managed to go from sad, pathetic dad to psychotic, jealous maniac within seconds continued to floor me with each year that went by. And now that I was older, it was happening more often. When was he going to go too far?

"I don't want you texting those girls," he barked. "They're too old. Go to your room now."

He had no idea. What would he do if he knew I spent most of my time with them? That I meshed with them so well that they asked me to join a team with them? That they felt like my family far more than he did? I pushed back from the table a headed upstairs, the throbbing in my hand still massive. I opened by room door and then shut and locked it behind me. CT came from closet the minute she knew it was clear.

"Let me see your hand," she demanded.

"It's fine." I held it out for her. "He just squeezed really hard, that's all."

CT's grey eyes met mine. "It's not fucking fine, and stop defending your dad! He could have broken your hand."

"He didn't mean it," I shot back at her. "I let Marna's name slip."

"So it was all your fault. Is that what you're telling me?"

I didn't answer.

She scoffed, raking her hair. "They never mean it when they're angry, or drunk for that matter. It's no excuse."

She was right, and I spent a lot more time resenting him than loving our spaghetti dinners, but when it came down to it, he was still my dad. Somewhere deep down I still left like I owed him. He was one parent who didn't abandon me when the other did, and he was the one who continued to raise me by himself when my mom was nowhere to be found. I hated his mood swings that resulted in a bruised hand or arm, but he loved me. That had to count for something. Right?

After a few more minutes, there was a soft knock on my door.

"Bria?" my dad called from outside my room. I waited for CT to hide away in the closet before I opened the door.

My dad stood there, wringing his hands again, waiting to be scolded. He was back to the sad, pathetic dad. "I'm so sorry I squeezed your hand, kiddo. Are you okay?"

"You hurt me," I said, standing in the doorway to let him know he wasn't welcome. This was the part I hated most about my dad. I was angry about what he'd done downstairs, and he's been worse, a lot worse, but I also felt like I had done something to trigger him. I blamed myself. No matter how many times CT told me it was a manipulative ploy, I couldn't just write him off.

"I didn't mean it, Bria. I… I just want the best for you. And for you to be in good company, that's all," he spoke to me as if I were ten years old again. "But I was out of line."

"It's okay, dad," I sighed. I just wanted him to leave me alone for the night, so we could start it all over again next week. "Just stay calm next time."

He nodded, glancing into to my room briefly. It was plain. My bed was in the center pressed against the wall between the two windows, with two nightstands, and a dresser pressed against the right hand wall and next to it, the closet.

"You sure your hand is okay?" He asked with his kind eyes.

"It's fine."

"Okay, kiddo. I should go to bed early. Sorry, we didn't have a chance to get to movie night tonight. Lock up for me?"

I nodded, and he vanished across the hall into his room. I shut the door again, and CT reemerged.

"CT," I warned. "Don't."

She crossed her arms in front of her chest, absently biting at her lip ring. "Fine… You don't get it yet," she said softly. "You don't get it, but you will."


	4. The Range

The next morning my car was parked down the street from my house, and I navigated to the address outlined in the syllabus to get to the range. It was at least twenty minutes outside of town and the GPS on my phone picked up the location as an old factory. On the way there, I thought about my dad, but only briefly. I didn't like dwelling on it for long, somehow believing that if I talked or thought about it more than five minutes, then it meant that I was holding onto the past like him. And didn't want that, not ever.

My GPS led me right up to some sort of construction/ factory site and two minutes of winding up some gravelly road. I should have known Academy would select a place like this. It was secluded. It was large enough. It was perfect for training. I parked my car under the shade of the tall factory along with the other cluster of cars that arrived before me. Even though it was still warm, I dressed in jeans, longsleeves, and sneakers, just in case the range went terribly wrong. My clothes couldn't stop me from being stabbed, but they could save me from a scratch or two.

Weston, our instructor, stood in front of the range which was a row of six sections separated by tall plastered walls. The students waited beside him. It was now that I realized that our class of twelve consisted of all different ages. There were some who looked to be in their thirties, and some young as twelve. The Academy covered a wide array of people. I wonder how each of them came to be Academy. The guy from yesterday, North wasn't here yet. I checked my phone. He had two minutes before we was late.

"Bria Grant, already on your phone I see," Weston announced.

Seriously? Class hadn't even started yet. I shoved it down in my jean pocket and raised my hands with my palms facing out. "Gone," I said.

"Very good."

The sound of a car approaching on gravel caught my attention and I stole a glance over my shoulder. A black Jeep rolled towards the range, spewing up fine dust from under the wheels. The windows were tinted so dark I couldn't see inside, but I was willing to bet it was North. It just seemed like a car he would drive.

He parked on the end of the row next to my car and got out, dressed in a plain black tshirt and dark jeans. His dark hair was short and a little wild as if he had just woken up and his thick eyebrows furrowed as if someone had pissed him off, but I was beginning to think that it might just be his normal face. I turned away as he approached trying not to seem like I had been watching.

Weston was the first to address him, checking the face of his watch as he talked. "Mr. Taylor. Cutting it close, are we?"

North's boots crunch against the gravel as he drew closer. He stopped just behind me and said, "I'm early."

"If you consider one minute as early, Mr. Taylor, I strongly suggest you start arriving _very _early." Weston opened his arms, dismissing further debate about it, and addressed everyone. "Now that everyone is here, welcome to the range. While out here you will follow my instruction acutely. Knives are dangerous. A knife doesn't come from the table without my permission. There are six stations so you will be paired in teams of two." He stared at North again. "Mr. Taylor since you were so early today, why don't you keep an eye on Ms. Grant and her phone activity at station six. The rest of you break up in two's and pick a station."

Great. How did I get stuck with North? It was bad enough already being on Weston's radar, now with the two of us, I'd never get away from his scrutiny. And why was Weston on our backs anyway? It had been one text to CT, and North had been no later than five minutes yesterday. I shook the thought from my head. I needed to stop worrying about North and worry about myself.

"Come on," North grunted, walking past me without a glance. He marched out toward the range, and I followed, weaving through the handful of students until we were at the last possible station.

The Academy-made barriers were up on each side of our station, blocking us from seeing the others from class, or maybe protecting us from their bad throwing. There was a metal table, and on it, a row of ten knives. The sharp edges caught light of the sun and their handles were slender and black. They looked more like kitchen knives than combat knives. The edges weren't even serrated. About 15 yards out was a large square target. Unlike most targets, it's didn't have three rings that got smaller as you got toward the center. This target sheet was plain, with only one circle the size of a coffee saucer for the bulls-eye. Nothing else. Suddenly, getting an A for the class seemed a lot harder.

As soon as North reached the table, he picked up one of the knives, holding the blade inward, his large hand grasped tightly on the handle.

I stayed a few feet away from him, folding my arms in front of me and fought to keep back an early morning yawn. "You must be dying to give Weston some favors."

"What?" He looked at me, his dark eyes more intense than I remember in class the other day and again, it felt like a bolt of electricity shooting through me. His face was serious, his jaw outlined with day old stubble.

I motioned at the knife with my chin. "We're not supposed to pick those up yet."

"You always follow the rules, tough girl?"

"When it matters," I said flatly, "Yes."

"Hm." He seemed amused, but he set the knife back in place as Weston went out to the targets so each group could see him clearly within their own station.

North and I listened as Weston went through his rules for the range which were simple enough:

1. Don't stab yourself

2. No Horseplay

3. Throw Smart.

Weston unbuttoned the front of his suit jacket and proceeded to demonstrate two different techniques on how to throw knives. The first was from the torso, like a frisbee. The other was overhand, launching from over the shoulder. Both had their benefits and difficulties and Weston performed then with perfection. Maybe he wasn't former mafia. Now, I was thinking he had to be a prior assassin, or possibly a current assassin when he wasn't teaching. I wondered what his story was and what brought him to the Academy. But it was none of my business and I'd probably never find out.

What I did find out, making my fears a reality, was that the saucer sized target was the only way to score points to pass the class. Hitting the plain part of the board didn't award any points. We would be graded at the end of every week with a final test at the end of the thirteen weeks.

Of course, North, who appeared totally unaffected by the steep grading scale, picked up the knives first, getting a feel of the weight in his hand. He must have been in a few Academy classes before, or he was really good at throwing knives already. "Throw five each and then alternate?"

I stepped back a couple feet. "Works for me." He looked like he could handle himself well enough with a knife, but I couldn't know for sure. This wasn't the dinner table.

He didn't wait or warm up. He launched the knife from over his shoulder in one fluid motion, and the knife struck the ground maybe twelve yards in front of him. Total dud.

"Watch your feet." I called out. Was I teasing him? He shot a look over his shoulder so fierce that even Weston might have hesitated but for some reason it made me want to laugh. Instead I glanced down at the floor to hide my smile.

He went for the next knife, threw it with half the power as before, but releasing a lot earlier this time. It went up in the air, and then pattered into the dirt. He grumbled something under his breath that I couldn't make out, clearly irritated with his lack of knife throwing skills. I didn't know why, but I was enjoying it. I didn't even know him. Maybe it was payback for him snickering at me in class yesterday. And even though he looked like he could snap my neck with one hand, I felt comfortable laughing at him.

The third one went out a lot further, but off to the left, missing the target about five yards. The fourth, off to the right. I checked the other targets across the range. No one had hit yet. He took a breath before throwing the fifth, and when he released, the knife nicked the bottom corner of the board. North had made contact.

"Your turn," North said, sounding somewhat pleased with his accomplishment. His breaths were heavy, but controlled. If he was winded, I knew it was going to take a lot out of me. He pressed his palms against the edge of the metal table, and then pulled back. "You coming up here or what, tough girl?"

"I have a name and it's Bria," I told him. I unfolded my arms and started toward the table.

"Short name to go with the short hair." He stepped aside as I approached, taking a full look at me from head to toe. I pretended like I didn't notice. My hair was a little boyish, short and curly, coming to the edge of my chin, just above my shoulders. Marna said I got to enjoy the perks of get-up-and-go. I said that I didn't want to deal with long hair. It got in the way. Short hair suited me.

I stepped up to the table, side by side with North, well, more like side by side with his shoulder. He was a head and a half taller than me and easily double the muscle. I picked up the first knife out of five. It was heavier than I expected, most of the weight sitting in the handle. "You might want to step back some."

"Don't take my fucking eye out."

I flashed my eyes toward him. Was that a joke? It was hard to tell because his tone remained deep and serious. For a quick second, I wondered what his team was like. I wondered if they were all intense and serious like him, or the opposite to counter his natural moodiness. Were they all the same age? How many were there? What was North's story?

I warmed up my technique, faking the throw several times from my torso, imagining it lining up with the target. So far, North had come the closest. Some teams were already done throwing their set, completely unsuccessful. I took a breath and then another. _It's no different that aiming a gun_, I thought.

I remember the first time I held a gun, and I remember being so nervous that my palms were sweating and I thought I was going to drop it and misfire. CT had placed it in my hand. All the girls were there with their arms crossed, evaluating me. It was a test. They wanted to see how I handled myself with something so powerful, if I gained or lost confidence with a weapon that gave me an unfair advantage.

I had gripped it the way CT instructed me to, the black metal cold against my fingers. My heart had pounded in my chest and ears so loud I could barely hear CT when she told me to aim. I did, pointing at a fat tree stub in the middle of the woods. I was shaking, but I faked it good enough, masking it with one heavy breath after another.

"Fire when you're ready," CT said.

I straightened my arms, focusing all my energy toward the tree stump, but I wondered what would happen if I didn't fire. Would I have stayed adopted, never brought on as an official member of the team? Or would they have kicked me out altogether? Over the year, I had grown to love these girls like sisters. They were my sisters. Backing out wasn't an option. I sucked in a breath.

"What if I miss and the bullet strays into a house?" I questioned, keeping my arms up.

"We're a mile into the woods," Viv told me.

I nodded, but still hesitated. "What if-."

CT impatiently blurted out. "They've got Marna hostage and their going to shoot her if you don't act!"

I fired. I hadn't even given it a second thought before my finger squeezed the trigger. The shot rang out, hurting my ears. The force from the gun pushed back into my hands and rippled up my shoulder. I caught my breath, feeling as though I had been holding it for hours.

Marna took the gun from me. "Good," she said simply.

"What-What do you mean good?"

She smirked with her perfectly painted lips. "If you hesitated, you would have been out." She grabbed onto my hands, squeezing to steady them. "And if you weren't shaking right now, you'd be out too. We don't do maniacs on this team." She smiled, but then her face turned serious. "We also don't do guns… We just needed to know that if you had to... you would. Thanks for having my imaginary back."

"Woah." Viv stood in front of the tree trunk, examining the damage. "Straight down the middle. Way to go, Bria."

CT had dropped an arm over my shoulders pulling me in close. "I knew B had a natural shot."

"Are you going to throw or warm up all day?" North asked from behind. I blinked, detaching myself from the memory. I gave a practice swing one more time before I swung from my torso threw it out toward the target. It soared straight but hit the ground halfway out.

"You're going to have to throw a lot harder than that, _Bria_."

I ignored him, picking up the second knife. But North was right. I was going to have to use all my power if I wanted to make it to the target. No wonder he was winded when he finished. I swung as hard as I could, but opened up too much. The knife went arching off to the right.

"Dammit," I grunted under my breath.

I grabbed the third, and it did the same. I was releasing too late. I felt awkward launching it from my torso. I couldn't aim the way I wanted. For the fourth knife, I tried over hand. It landed it the dirt next to North's first knife.

"Stick to frisbee one."

"Can you not?" I grunted. I had been quiet for his five failed attempts, and now that it was my turn he wanted to speak up as if he were running the class with Weston. Nicking the corner of the target didn't make him a pro.

North only shrugged.

I turned back to the range to focus, but for some reason, I was unsettled. Knowing that North was watching added the pressure. I didn't want to suck in front of the this guy. For me, he and I were already in a heated competition. It was part of my nature, always wanting to come out on top. I took another breath, trying my best to block him out of my mind, turning sideways so I could throw from my stomach. I launched it. It soared out toward the target, and I held my breath.

It fell short, but only by a foot or so.

"Very good, Ms. Grant." Weston approached our station. "Try not to rotate the hips so much, this isn't golf. Leaning forward will give you better leverage."

Weston's suit jacket was gone and his sleeves were rolled up, neatly, to his elbows. He seemed more relaxed this way and much more approachable. I internalized the information he gave me, ready to use if during the next cycle.

"And Mr. Taylor. I saw you hit the corner of the target. Nice. For you, don't think baseball. Keep both feet on the ground in a strong sturdy stance, and release by the head."

North nodded, taking in the instruction too.

"Look at that. My trouble makers are probably the best on the range." And with that he walked away from us.

Once the last knifes of the round were thrown, Weston instructed everyone to head out and collect their knives. There was a lot of crossing lanes and picking up knives far away from each target. Luckily, mine and North's were pretty straight on. North did most of the collecting. While I grabbed the two knives closest to the station, he went far out to the target and off to the side to get the rest of them. I watched him a he went for his knife that nicked the target. As he bent down, the bottom of his tshirt came up a bit, exposing a thin part of the tan skin above his hip.

I quickly turned back toward the station and set the two knives on the table, pretending not to see. It had only been two days, and I was guilty of a lot of pretending lately. I waited while everyone else gathered the rest of the knives, and as North made his way back, I thought of a million different things to say to him. I'm not even sure why I wanted to say anything at all, but I decided on, "I'm surprised Weston is letting us throw on the first day. I thought there'd be some fake exercise or something for safety reasons."

He dropped the knives on the table, the metal on metal clanking together. "Academy doesn't have time fake exercises."

_Of course, they don't. Any Academy member should know that. Come on, Bria_. "How long have you been in?"

"A few years," he said, adding no further clarification.

"I've been in officially two months."

He raised an eyebrow. "I knew you were a rookie."

"Well, they adopted me a year ago. So…"

"So, that still makes you a rookie."

I felt my cheeks heat up a little bit, but before I could say something Weston was back on the range.

"Alright. You all are satisfactory so far. Throwing knives takes time. It is an art," Weston said. "We will go through the round again. I have given each of you input to better you accuracy. Use that direction to close in on your target. Once I step out of range you may begin."

Weston walked off and the knifes started flying.

I picked up the first knife before North had the chance. He glanced down at my hand on the knife but didn't protest.

"How old are you anyway?" I asked him.

"Older than you."

"But not by much?" I calculated. He was tall and his face was permanently pissed off but he couldn't have been older than fifteen. Behind all that tough guy crap, he had a young teenage quality to him that I couldn't put my finger on, something he couldn't hide.

"What does it matter anyway?" he leaned against the plastered wall and checked his phone for a split second, then shoving it back in his pocket.

"Just curious." I launched the first knife, it arching off to the right again. I had to remember Weston's words. _Lean forward. This isn't golf._

Before I could pick up the next knife, North was beside me. It was like he materialized out of thin air. His hand brushed mine as he went for the knife, and I curled my fingers back.

"We can alternate," he said.

I folded my arms, staying in place. "Is that a request or are you telling me?"

He glowered down at me, his eyelashes so dark they looked wet and eyes like granite. His face was stoic, not even a flinch as he held my stare.

He was testing me.

I imagined him counting down the amount of seconds before I got scared and moved. But I wasn't going anywhere. I had my share of tough people to know I could handle him.

After a few more seconds, and after he realized I wouldn't be moved, the corner of his mouth tilted into a smirk. Even on Mr. Pissed Off Scary Face, it was handsome. "You're not too bad, tough girl."

What was that supposed to mean? Was it a compliment? It didn't sound like one, but then again, I couldn't imagine that anything coming out of North's mouth had the ability to sound like one. He raised both his eyebrows and held out his hand with his palm up as if to say "Can we alternate or not?" I stepped back slightly, letting him go ahead when the pendant on his neck caught my attention. It was a small piece of stone that had asian characters chiseled into it, wrapped around his neck with a cord.

"What language is that?" I pointed at his throat.

He didn't look down, inherently knowing what I was talking about. He warmed up his throwing arm and launched the knife. It came close to the target but didn't hit. "Japanese."

"What's it mean?"

He pulled at the collar of his shirt so the pendant dropped underneath the material, hiding it away from me. "You sure ask a lot of questions."

I stepped up to the table, grabbing a knife. "Touchy subject. I get it. Sorry I asked."

"It's not touchy."

"The you're a private guy? You're not too much of a talker."

"You don't know me.."

"If I knew you I wouldn't need to ask, would I?"

He scoffed quietly, "Better that way."

I left it alone, not wanting to get too deep or completely piss him off by the second day. I might have been able to handle his mood, but I certainly didn't want to be on his bad side. We ran through a few more rounds of throwing knives. North never got as close to the target as he did the first time, and neither did anyone else, but it was starting to feel natural. The knives felt lighter, and my throwing technique didn't feel silly. North teased me every now and then but he mainly kept quiet, seemingly in deep thought after I brought up the pendant. It only made me want to know his story more.

Halfway through the fourth round, and out of nowhere North asked, "Why'd they pick you for Academy?"

I fiddled with the knife in my hand, getting ready to throw it. It was a strange question. He didn't sound patronizing like I didn't belong but curious. I had to take a minute to think about it. "I don't know, CT -she's on my team- said I meshed well with all the girls. Apparently, bird teams are hard to keep together."

North smirked, just a little. "No shit."

I threw the knife and then looked at him. "Why?"

"No reason." He was processing something in his mind, I just didn't know what. What did it matter why the girls picked me? He stepped up to the table a grabbed for the next knife, a little more willing to talk "Bet you I'll hit the tar-"

A sharp cry rang through the range and we froze. It sounded like a painful shrill, like someone had been hurt. Within seconds I heard Weston's voice further down the range. "Move aside! Everyone relax!"

North and I shared a glance, and we left our station to find out what was happening. The other students hovered around station three with horrored looks on their faces, and as I got closer I saw a guy on the ground clutching his leg. No, his foot.

One of the knives was lodged in his foot all the way down to the handle. Blood soaked around the blade onto his shoe. The girl standing over him, who must have been his partner was in tears, cupping her hand over her mouth and nose.

"It was an accident!" she cried through her fingers. "I didn't mean it. I let go too early."

"Mr. Young, it is imperative you don't flex your foot at all." Weston instructed the guy on the ground, kneeling in front of him. The rest of us watched as Weston gave Young instructions and Young obeyed through gritted teeth.

"Someone call the Academy and get Dr. Green on the phone." Weston ordered.

At least half the students pulled out their phones and dialed for the Academy but I couldn't move. I stood there frozen, my eyes fixed on the student with the knife in his foot and writhed in pain. By the look on his face, he tried to keep himself as calm as he could. I wondered if it had something to do with the Academy. _Even if you're hurt, act as tough as you can_. I thought about what I would have done if North had accidentally stabbed me. I'd probably curse him out first, then stab him back, and then scream in pain. My priorities were out of whack.

"I've got Dr. Green," someone shouted.

"Hand me the phone!" Weston barked. "Mr. Taylor, Mr. Hahn, help me carry him out by the parking lot."

North brushed passed me, as if he had been waiting to step in the entire time. It happened fast. He entered the circle of students, grabbed Young by one of the shoulders and helped haul him away from the range toward open space. The rest of us followed close behind but far back enough to stay out of the way.

Weston stood up and addressed us all. A spot of blood stained the sleeve of his dress shirt. "If you are not directly involved with the incident, get in your cars and go now! Class is dismissed."

* * *

><p>"So wait, she stabbed him?" Viv asked on the other side of the phone.<p>

"No, Viv. I said it was an accident. And I didn't actually see the knife go in his foot."

"An accidental stab is still a stab. Crazy stuff for your first day on the range, but it happens." Viv dismissed it as if accidentally getting stabbed was routine. "How'd _you_ do?"

"Fine, I guess. Everyone pretty much sucked."

"Anyone hit on the first day?"

I thought of North nicking the target. "This one guy did pretty good. Got closer than the rest of us."

"He must be a natural."

I scoffed. "Yeah right."

"...Okay. Maybe not. Anyway. Did you make it to Jensen's yet?"

"I'm turning on his street now," I said making a right hand turn into some neighborhood on the edge of the city. The girls wanted to scope his house out as soon as possible, so I went right after Weston dismissed class. I pulled into the neighborhood to a tall, iron black gate blocking the private street with a codebox. "And, I need a code."

"Bria needs a code," Viv said away from the phone.

I pulled up, letting my window down and waited. After a second a gray BMW pulled up behind me. "We've got people waiting."

"CT, she needs it now."

"Give me a damn second. 2218."

"2218," VIv repeated, but I already had it entered it, the gates slowly opening. I Imagined an orchestral choir singing as the neighborhood revealed itself. CT had said it best. _Big Money._

"Maybe I shouldn't have taken my car. I probably look suspicious in my piece of junk." My car, Betsy was fine, just an old model and not the right price range for a neighborhood like this. The houses were huge. No. The _mansions_ were huge. Green lawns, perfectly trimmed hedges, brick fronts, guest houses, four car garages. "I definitely brought the wrong car. Tell Marna I need to borrow hers next time."

"Marna's not here. She's in an interview with Dalia Jensen."

I drove slowly through the neighborhood half amazed half focused. "At Pink Rascals? Already?"

"You know Marna. The girl doesn't wait around for anything.- Okay, CT says it's the seventh house of the left. 17489."

"Yeah, I see it." I said, slowing to a coast. The gray BMW had turned off to their residence a few houses back. Jensen's house was easily one of the grander houses. With a long driveway, it sat back further than the other houses, providing a bit of mystery as if it had been tucked away for some grand reason. "Okay, I'm seeing cobblestone driveway, tall french windows, red double doors, freshly painted. A topiary of a dolphin out front-."

"God, you're worse than Marna." It was CT talking now. "This isn't the fucking home and garden channel. I can see all that shit from GoogleEarth. What else?"

I paused, trying to ignoring all the beauties of the house for something more useful. "Two cars. An SUV and a Mercedes in the drive, both back license plates are missing."

"Much better. What else? Patrol?"

"Doesn't look like it." I squinted my eyes, narrowing in on the slated stone porch. "There's a camera watching the front door, which means there are probably others."

"Probably. Any cars on the street in front of the house?"

"A black van across the street, tinted windows."

"Plates?"

"No," I paused, feeling uneasy in my gut. "It's out of place."

"Don't stop your car," CT ordered. "Don't even slow down. Just drive by."

"What are you thinking?" I applied some pressure to the gas pedal and turned my head forward so it didn't look like I was staring at the house. The windows to the van were so dark I couldn't even begin to see inside. No plates. No activity.

"It might mean someone else is looking into Jensen. Could be the authorities and we don't want to get tangled with them."

"I wouldn't be surprised. Fraud hits everyone's radar not just Academy." The phone shuffled a bit and it was Marna again. "Let's play it safe. Bria, just come on back to CT's. We've got some reworking to do."


End file.
